On a light snowy day

I spent a relaxing morning indoors since it's snowing out at the moment and there are lots of little chores to do in and around the farmhouse that don't require wading out in the slick muddy field. Mending one of my favorite sweaters, planning yet another construction project, and remembering to write a blog entry before my relatives have to remind me.

Earlier in the week I managed to run a plow along a few of the new beds where I had planted buckwheat and then rye as cover crops last year.

For about an hour, the ground was frozen just deep enough so that the tractor tires didn't sink down in the soil, but the plow could still penetrate and flip the earth. As the sun rose above the tree line to the East, it quickly became too muddy to continue. Even so, it was a good test of the Farmall, which has been sitting idle all winter. Other than the generator not keeping the battery charged, it ran great. We knew this was a problem last year, but just recharged the battery between uses. I changed the brushes on the generator and starter this winter, but that clearly didn't fix the problem. So, a few more self-directed tractor maintenance lessons are in order. All part of learning how to farm.

Before we add the composted woodchips and manure to the beds, I moved some of the electric fencing and allowed the chickens to feast on the bugs and worms that the plow brought to the surface. The chickens' importance on the farm as pest reducers and in helping break up the soil is only matched by their ability to produce great eggs and LOTS of manure. Selling the eggs this year has been a lot of fun since most people have forgotten what real pasture-raised eggs taste like: "As though they have cream in them," according to one customer. Oh, and the round bales in the photo above are being composted, and will be added to the beds under the high tunnels next year. On top of each bale is a mound of household kitchen scraps, wood chips, and composted chicken manure; each time it rains, the microbes and nutrients get pushed a little deeper into the hay to speed its decomposition.

The first trays of this year's onions have sprouted and the leek trays will head out to the unheated greenhouse soon to make way for additional trays. This is the first year we're making extensive use of artificial lighting in the house to get the seedlings going. Our previous years' efforts at starting plants in the greenhouse and covering them every night was only partially successfuland we really need good germination to keep up with our customers' requests. There are also a few early trays of tomatoes and peppers germinating in an old refrigerator in a corner of the tractor shed. We put a lightbulb inside and it keeps the soil at a good 80-85 degrees till the seeds germinate, and then we'll bring them into the house...which we keep significantly cooler.

Sharon has written a few times about our amazing business customers and the individuals who regularly stop by our market stand. But last night after telling a friend about our customer's choice CSA -- pay $100-and get $110 dollar credit -- and having him immediately hand me a wad of bills just reinforces my view of how lucky we are to be starting a farm in a community that cares about the success of its farms. While it certainly hasn't been easy getting the farm started, having people really value (and not just monetarily) what you produce makes all of the hard work worth it.

Skeleton Crew

On Sunday afternoon, a dozen willing workers descended on Tree Gate Farm to help us erect the frames of two USDA-funded hoop houses. Dean took care of all the paperwork -- we certainly couldn't have afforded the houses otherwise. Yet while we paid the Mennonite farmer who fabricated the components when he delivered them late last week, the USDA releases the grant funds only after the houses are built and inspected by USDA reps. That's where the work crew came in: Like an old-fashioned barn raising, assembling a greenhouse is emphatically not a two-person job.

Mark (TGF's official director of acquisitions) shuttled back and forth to the shop for sundries demanded by the work crew while the rest of us picked up at the farm gate, where the fabricator had unloaded all of the components from his flat-bed trailer.

Once the pieces were laid out, roughly in place, we tackled assembly. Think some combination of Tinker Toys and paper dolls: Stand up the end walls, then drop tabs on the ends of the arches into pre-drilled holes in the tops of the end walls. Each (rather heavy, rather awkward) hoop took five sets of hands. Assembly was the easy part. Our clay-rock soil made twisting the ground anchors a two-person workout, as did attaching the tracks that hold the wiggle wire that anchors the plastic. Turns out steel frame isn't quite as accommodating of a tek screw's self-tapping spire as the aluminum track. Even so, with a half-dozen power drills and at least as many bits, we finished in time for an early chili supper.

Mom served as official event photographer (thanks, Amelia, for catching a shot of her, hard at work):

The chickens came out to help, too:

Like a red barn or a black-and-white holstein grazing rolling, green hills, the welded-steel frames of the hoop houses cry out that this is a working farm. The view will change again once we've built the end walls and hung the plastic in place, a chore that can only be tackled on a day so calm even the gusts never exceed 5 mph. In the next few weeks, we'll create "hot beds" of raw horse bedding and manure hemmed in place by square bales of mulch hay. On top, we'll lay trays of seeds to germinate. As the piles begin to decompose, they'll generate the soil heat that crops like tomatoes, peppers, and eggplants demand to kick-start germination. Also slated for plasticulture: ginger, licorice, lemongrass, cucumbers. Oh, the fresh flavors of summer -- they're six months away, yet, but we can taste them already!

More photos available here.

Don't Believe the Hype

We still love our birds -- don't get me wrong -- but they haven't exactly been living up to the accolades I posted late last week. Temperatures plummeted to the single digits over the last two nights and even daytime conditions haven't risen above freezing since sometime early Friday morning. The hens have been cranky the entire time -- it's a toss-up as to whose complaints about the weather have been more intense, but it looks like they're kvetching more than us.

They also seem intent on laying eggs and returning to their collective huddle around the feed trough as quickly as possible. Instead of sharing a single nest and leaving one of their broody sisters to keep things warm as they do when weather is a bit milder, they've taken to dropping the eggs helter-skelter throughout the coop. Despite reasonably robust insulation, a great big window aimed at the sun to increase passive heating, a 100-watt red heat bulb, and a deep-bedding system that generates heat as it composts, their house is still a rather chilly place to just leave eggs lying around.

But we're not complaining -- regular visits to check on the hens insures that we farmers bundle up and venture out into the wintry wonderland, despite the occasional flash of wintertime blues that make it tough to climb out of bed and tackle a daunting to-do list. I've long appreciated the declaration of a friend who now has young children to stave off her own inclination toward seasonal torpor. Several years ago, she culled most of her aging flock, but kept a few through the winter: My hens, she declared by way of explanation, are the reason I get out of bed in the winter.

Eggsellent news

Back when we were investigating which breed of chicken would suit Tree Gate Farm, wintry weather was a significant consideration. Lightweight bantam breeds may be significantly cheaper to feed, but they require some serious pampering to survive a Finger Lakes blizzard. By contrast, our hearty Black Australorps willingly wander through several inches of snow and don't complain any more than we do.

A bonus: their glossy black plumage and red combs look gorgeous against a white backdrop. This morning, as fat white flakes drifted downward, they looked especially glamorous. In the absence of the snow cover typical for this time of year, the hens have reveled in easy access to fresh pasture and big, fat grubs in the orchard for two months longer than usual. Not only have they reduced the population of pests likely to wreak havoc come spring, the birds have made our customers very happy. "It tastes like there's cream in the scrambled eggs," said one. "It's like I put butter on the ones I soft boiled," said another. Having already sold out of meat and potatoes, it's a delight to offer up a carton filled by the Tree Gate hens.

When temperatures plummet, we have yet another reason to appreciate our beautiful birds: They go broody -- just like the farmers. While the notion to nest could vex a larger producer, our hens' inclination to keep their eggs warm until we come collecting makes winter farming a little easier. On days when eggs left unattended might freeze, a hen keeps them cozy til we arrive, sparing us multiple trips to the nesting boxes.

Recently, we've invested that extra time researching better record-keeping systems, working with an illustrator to develop a graphic identity for the farm, crunching numbers to calculate the number of seeds we should plant in the year ahead, and spending time with friends. Perhaps most exciting, we've been scheming about a few new ventures slated for launch late in 2012. Stay tuned . . .